


Fear and Loathing

by Shampain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abaddon requests Crowley join her in Las Vegas for a chat. There, they continue negotiations, and begin to test each other, both in the city and out in the desert. Sequel to 'Sealed With A Kiss'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we are a fever

Abaddon loved Vegas. There were lots of places that were like hell on earth, and Vegas was, unequivocally, one of them. It was the heat, tireless and unending – and when it wasn’t hot the desert winds whipped sand up in your eyes and the world became a strange whirlwind. It was an unpleasant place to be, and yet they had built an oasis here, of recklessness and abandon, anger and drink and false hopes. People lived here; they existed in the rough streets and fought to dig their way in, for reasons completely beyond her reckoning.

In a way it was like any other city humans had built. And in a way it was so much more than that; it left scorch marks on the soul.

Abbadon walked down the Strip. The new one, not the old one – she’d been to Old Vegas a long time ago, and upon revisit it was nowhere near to the glamour she remembered. Ah, well. She stepped past shops selling skimpy clubwear, tiny convenience stores, and casino after casino after hotel. The people on the Strip were always hilarious to look at, too. So many families, and strippers, and alcoholics, and people lost on their way home. Gazing down, the pavement was scattered with flyers for girls with fake breasts and strange looks in their eyes, staring up at parents who tried to usher their children quickly by. Some of the girls were demons, she knew. Her kind flocked here in droves and they sold sin with an ease that was almost disgusting. If a demon couldn’t make it here, they couldn’t make it anywhere.

Demons didn’t get hot or cold to the point where they became uncomfortable, but they could feel the temperature. She liked heat; it reminded her of home. Her red hair seemed to soak in the sunlight, one of the reasons why she enjoyed the body so much. “Why, Abaddon,” said a voice, just behind her. “Your head appears to be on fire.”

She didn’t look; she knew it was Crowley and he wasn’t surprising her. She had called him here, and as expected the bastard had taken his sweet time showing up. “I’m going to take that as a compliment on my hair.”

“You may as well.”

She fell back half a step, and he came forward slightly, and then they were side by side. A woman heading towards them, standing comfortably between two scowling men while sipping at a wine cooler, immediately paled and hopped up on one of the steps leading into a clothing store, getting out of their way. Demons. No guts, some of them. Those were the ones she wanted to get rid of.

There were angels here now, too, though. And Hell needed numbers, Abaddon had to admit.

“I’m so glad to see you’ve figured out cell phones,” Crowley remarked. “I was getting tired of wringing blood out of people every time I needed you to complete me. And the bowl o’ blood technique is really a bit demeaning, don’t you think?”

“Towards humans?”

“Towards you.”

She flashed him an annoyed look, but he was unmoved, and in any case, he was right. That form of communication was for demons who didn’t want to be found; and as it stood, neither of them wanted to admit to being _that_ much in hiding from one another.

In Vegas, a woman in a leather jacket walking with a man in a suit wasn’t exactly an odd couple – odd couples didn’t exist here. But Abaddon felt the attention. The Strip was full of demons, and all of them knew exactly who Abaddon and Crowley were.

“You know why I called you here,” she said, watching yet another demon, this one a taxi driver, duck into his car. “So I won’t explain.”

Crowley took a moment to respond. For someone who could never shut up on a regular basis, he apparently liked to leave her hanging in a conversation. It could inspire anyone to want to beat him senseless, and Abaddon was more easily inspired than most. “I know why,” he conceded. “You wanted to be seen together. I just haven’t figured out what your motivation is.”

“A genius like you?” she teased.

“Well, a part of me is wondering if you plan on punching me in front of everyone.”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Of course it has. There needs to be some traffic in there.”

She glanced aside at him, but she told herself she wouldn’t hit him. Not yet. She wanted to be seen in public with Crowley because she wanted to show that she had control – that was the biggest concern for her just then. Of course, Crowley was making it difficult, whether accidentally or on purpose, she wasn’t sure.

There was no questioning that she could be brutal. Abaddon didn’t have to prove that. But demons were fickle, and a lot of them were waiting, no matter how hard she attempted to hurry them forward. They wanted to see if Abaddon had the stamina to hold out against Crowley’s unending patience – could she last, or would she expend herself too early, and crash and burn? She had seen him as simply a bureaucrat, but the way the demons responded to his emergence from captivity suggested something else. They _feared_ him. She wanted to figure out why. Once she overcame that, then they could all let their true natures come out – vicious and brutal.

In a way, the deal she had struck with him at least forced her to do it the way she knew she should – get her following first, because simply taking Crowley out of the picture, she knew, could not win her Hell. She’d had to face that truth when he had been held captive.

Maybe Crowley knew that. He could also know exactly why she wanted to talk to him, here, in the middle of the day, but was pretending not to. They passed the front of one hotel, milling with people. A convention, no doubt; she wondered what about, but idly, not really caring about the answer. Still, it helped distract her from the fact that she was playing the game his way, if only for a little while.

Also from the fact she’d let him finger her and that she’d rather like him to do it again. That was bothering her – well, not the fact that she wanted it, but that it was from him and she wanted it again sometime soon. She’d had a go with a couple of her subordinates, but she knew before it began it wouldn’t satisfy.

It probably had to do with the fact she also wanted to kill him at the same time.

“You’re not angry about making the deal, are you, love?” he asked. “Because that’s an unbreakable contract, unless we both decide otherwise. And I have to say, I’m rather enjoying the terms so far.”

“I’m not angry about the deal,” Abaddon said. “I’m not angry at all. I don’t appreciate that you left me high and dry, though, Crowley, I must say. If I wasn’t going to be a lady about our agreement, I’d rip your ears off right now.”

“Oh, please,” he said. “I let you come, didn’t I?”

Abaddon couldn’t help it. She stopped, and he stopped too, perhaps not thinking clearly; and she slugged him right across the face, hard enough that he stumbled. As soon as she did it, she knew she should have resisted, in her own interests.

It had felt really good, though, so no regrets there.

“Really?” Crowley asked, wiping a bit of blood from his lower lip.

Not just demons but humans were looking at them, too, startled, stepping around them. A group of frat boys went by in their sleeveless shirts and board shorts, laughing. “I bet you deserved that, bro,” one of them exclaimed.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and he and Abaddon began to walk again. She could hear the bloody gurgles, but the sounds of panic were soon swallowed up by the crowd.

“He’s right, though,” she said, after a moment. “You did deserve that.”

“If you’re going to punch me every time I help you orgasm, then I’m not sure about doing it again,” Crowley said, taking out a handkerchief to get rid of the last of the blood on his cut lip.

“Who says I want you to?”

“That little noise you made did,” he said. “Which is fine, because then we would be in agreement. Unless you keep going all Rocky on me. Then we’re going to have some problems.”

When she had continued the kiss from business to pleasure, back in California, he had been receptive. Startled, but receptive. It had been a gamble – a very enjoyable one – and then it had gone slightly off the rails. For once, Abaddon understood the phrase ‘playing with fire’, and what it could mean. She wanted to pursue it, and he was leaving a path open for her. But was it a trap?

And even if it was, didn’t she still want to go along with it anyway? She wasn’t used to backing down; she _was_ used to getting what she wanted, whatever the price.

Abaddon was not like Crowley; she was a fighting creature, she had never had to sell sin like he had done for centuries. She was not a seductress. What she was, though, was a fast learner.

She moved close to him, slipping her arm around his shoulders. She was gratified at seeing him flinch.

“Give me a cigarette, Crowley,” she purred.

He cast her an amused look. “What makes you think I have any?”

“Because most demons don’t.”

He was still giving her that look, but he slipped his hand into his jacket. Most demons didn’t smoke; it was a vice they didn’t really understand. It reminded them too much of Hell, which, instinctively, demons didn’t want to spend much time in. It felt too much like prison. Abaddon liked it, though. She always came and went as she pleased; there was nothing suffocating about home. She figured Crowley felt the same.

They paused on the sidewalk, and she held hers up to her mouth and let him light it for her, him pretending to use a match, but not needing to. He touched his own cigarette to the end of hers, though, surprising her by lighting it that way. Was that a subtle gesture of backing down, or was he just being a flirt? Admittedly, Abaddon was a little rusty when it came to finer tactics. She supposed Crowley knew that, but she didn’t see herself as being at a disadvantage. If she had, she would never have agreed to their deal.

They walked like that in silence for some time, almost companionably. Her original plan had failed, but his probably had, too, whatever it was – or maybe it was going just as he liked. As for her, she supposed the meeting could be salvaged.

She was going to worm her way under his skin. He had to have holes in his armour somewhere. The Winchesters had dug deep into him; Abaddon would find the gaps, and tear him apart. She may not be a master of seduction, but she was a hunter, and she knew how to bring down prey. She just had to change her weapons – and wasn’t that the point of taking Josie Sands’ body in the first place?

As a theory, she could test it out. She didn’t know _how_ human he had been, or for how long, but it was bound to leave a lasting effect, so she decided to test his chivalry. She opened her mouth as if to say something but, just then, a tall, giant of a man lightly knocked her shoulder on his way by. She was thrown off-balance enough that she stumbled just slightly on one of the invisible curbs that popped up before street crossings. It was all perfectly timed.

In a flash Crowley’s hand was at her wrist, keeping her upright, steadying her. Had he done that instinctively or consciously? She needed to take his head apart, see what was going on in there, and she figured she knew a good way to do that now. He was already alluding to them being together; but, again, it could be a trap. “You really need to ditch the heels, Abby darling,” he tutted, though he looked anything but concerned.

She brushed him off, her annoyance real enough and serving her well, and wondering how many saw. It had only been a small slip, a small gesture in a crowd, but only one demon needed to see it for it to spread. Still, a price must always be paid for any risk. “But I like being able to stare down at your head,” she said, shrugging. “The heels help.”

“You don’t need to be standing up for that to happen.”

“I will hit you again, Crowley.”

“Go for it. I like it rough. Want me to choke your roadblock?”

Abaddon turned her head and watched the human go, the back of his head like a target to her eyes. But she shook her head. “No,” she said. If she gutted every single creature that jostled her on the Strip, they’d have to rename it No Man’s Land. Besides, her concern was Crowley.

They continued walking, and she noticed he had managed to get his arm around her waist, so she put her arm back around his shoulders again, her free hand tapping away the ash on her cigarette. They were heading towards the cleaner, prettier casinos, with their water shows and extensive malls. She was getting tired of it, and so she began to cast her gaze around for a worthy distraction. She was not willing to let him go just yet.

She took a drag on her cigarette. “Want to go for a drive, Crowley?” she asked, playfully.

“That a euphemism?”

“Idiot,” she sighed, exhaling smoke. She nodded ahead. “I like that one,” she stated, pointing out the candy apple red car parked at the valet of one of the hotels. Crowley glanced at her, as if to check that she was joking; when he saw that she wasn’t, he shrugged.

“Well,” he said. “Why not?”

The valet flashed terrified black eyes at them, and tossed Crowley the keys. Without missing a beat, Crowley tossed them, in turn, to Abaddon, while dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel.

Abaddon caught the keys, raising her eyebrows at him. “Seriously?” she asked. “You’re going to let _me_ drive the car?” And here she thought she was going to have to fight for it.

“I never drive myself.”

“Wait,” she said, starting to grin, “ _can_ you drive?”

“Get in the bloody car, Abaddon,” Crowley said, before following his own advice. She shrugged, flicked her cigarette at the demon who had handed them the keys.

“Don’t worry about us,” she said to him. “If anyone dies today, it’ll be you.”

She got into the car and saw that Crowley had another cigarette lit, drawing on it calmly. “None for me?” she asked, affecting the sort of pout women had worn back in the fifties. Or she assumed they had, from all the advertisements.

He gave her a look; a frighteningly inscrutable expression, the sort a demon wore when, for a moment, he was tired of passing as human. It was unwholesomely attractive. “No,” he said. “We’ll share this one, darling.”

Smirking, Abaddon started the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to avoid a Hunter S. Thompson-esque title, because he was amazing and I'm a sham - but after I wrote this, 'Fear and Loathing' was just too perfect a title to pass up. Forgive me. It was a cross between that and 'Pocket Aces', which obviously doesn't sound as cool.  
> So this is ending up a lot longer than I planned, hence it being chaptered. POV is switching back and forth between Crowley and Abaddon - I thought it would be fun to be in her head for a bit, so you can see she's smarter than the other demons are taking her for. Though she's still all punchy-punch as well (can you blame her?). Rating is very likely to go up as the story goes on.


	2. handshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As expected, Abaddon's method of seduction involves wrecking a few things - but admittedly it's a tactic that works well on Crowley.

Insanity for demons couldn’t be based on any human scale, but even so he felt like getting into a car with Abaddon would have counted as mentally unhinged no matter what species you were. And yet, he did it. He was taking more risks than usual – perhaps he could blame his cravings on human blood for that.

Or he could blame it on the sheen on Abaddon’s lips, which, he was certain, had convinced lesser creature towards more dastardly things. What a pick was Josie Sands’ body, it turned out. He was certain that not just any meatsuit could house a Knight of Hell, so how strange that something which looked so pretty and delicate could handle something so robust and violent. Then again, sometimes that was just the way of things. Like Crowley’s own, the meatsuit hid what else was truly there.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, with interest, watching as Abaddon shifted gears. Like many fast cars worth their salt, it was a stick shift. She seemed to handle it with ease, though it did jerk rather abruptly away from the curb. Maybe that was just how she drove.

“Tell me,” she said, in that purring little voice that was almost impossible to take seriously, “do you actually know how to drive?”

“I learned a long time ago,” Crowley said, draping his cigarette out the open window. “Then promptly forgot. I have other people to drive me around. _Like you_ ,” he added, smirking.

“I’m not going to take you anywhere nice.”

“So long as _you’re_ there, Red.”

Abaddon drove as one would expect her to drive – as if the world had opened itself up just for her coming and going, and that if nothing moved out of the way, it was because it wanted to be destroyed. Crowley was expecting quite a lot of road kill.

“I was tired of the Strip,” she said, suddenly, surprising him. It seemed entirely too honest a statement for her, but there it was, and it made sense. She merged onto the interstate with rather reckless abandon, forcing her way between two cars before jumping into the next lane, cutting off another car. All of this she did with cool efficiency, which was not so impressive coming from a demon as from a human. To a demon, a car crash was an impertinence and an annoying diversion, as opposed to a deadly risk. To that end, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to impress him or not.

Crowley put one foot up on the dash and leaned his head back, looking into the rear view mirror, wondering if the telltale red and blue of a police car might pop up anytime soon. “I can see why,” he said. “Boring place, the Strip. And,” he added, “we were getting close to the angels.” They were clustering out by the MGM Grand, for some reason. He had a feeling they were trying to put down headquarters there, but for the moment he had yet to discern why they had chosen that position.

Abaddon twitched the steering wheel as she cut in front of yet another car. “And that,” she said.

“They’re getting rather unruly.”

“So long as they stick to killing each other, I’m fine. They ought to turn themselves into an endangered species soon enough, and we won’t have to worry about them.”

 _We_. “I’m sure they think the same of us,” he mused.

Abaddon had rolled down her window as well, and above that, and the music – what the Hell were they listening to? Some sort of angry rock girl, who Abaddon dressed like – it was hard to hear, but he was pretty sure she scoffed.

They were headed out of the city, ripping down the road at speeds slightly higher than average. Not enough to get a cop to pull them over, apparently. Good. You could always kill whoever was bothering you, but when more humans started following you around, the more annoying it was to get rid of them all and leave without a trace. Not that he figured she cared about that kind of thing.

Abaddon relaxed back in her seat, and held out her hand. Her long red hair, curling slightly, flew back against her shoulders, and the demon that was within burned with a frenzy that was terrifying in its intensity. It was easy to see how so many of his followers had turned and gone after her, once faced with her power. Still, desires were often at their strongest in the presence of stupidity. He wouldn’t call siding with her to be the smart choice.

Crowley shifted, leaning towards her. He ignored her hand and instead moved to place the cigarette against her lips himself. She didn’t look aside at him; she wrapped her mouth around it and took a drag. But she knew he was looking at her, she had to, inspecting her every movement. No matter how hard she tried, her skills at deception could not match his own. He was certain of it.

As soon as he pulled away, she plucked the cigarette from her lips in order to exhale a faint cloud of smoke. “We should talk,” she said.

“That wasn’t the purpose of the drive?”

“Not entirely,” Abaddon murmured. He laughed.

“Did you want to do more than talk?” he asked. “For a warrior, Abaddon, you do have the look of the brothel about you.”

She looked over at him. The glow at the end of her cigarette reflected the flash in her eyes. Or was it the other way around? “I like going fast,” she said. She hit the gas.

They were tearing south down the I-15; Abaddon clearly wanted to get out of the city. He was not terribly concerned – the most terrifying thing she could do was drive him to a group of demons that were going to tear him apart, and honestly, she could have done that more easily in a hotel room on the Strip. She wanted distance from the other demons, now that she had dangled Crowley in front of them. He couldn’t figure out any political ramifications she’d want, which meant there were probably none. It wasn’t her game.

Or maybe she just wanted to go fast, like she said.

“I’ve been talking to everyone about you, Crowley,” she said, her voice raised to be heard over the wind. Still within city limits, but not for long. “They have so much to say.”

“I’m terribly flattered.”

“That you’re an extensive topic?”

“No, that you asked.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, flicking what was left of the cigarette out the window. “Of course I asked,” she said.

That was telling. He had hoped that Abaddon, in her pride and fury, would not give much thought to _how_ Crowley had managed to make his way to the top in Hell and simply focus on deposing him. Digging up dirt on your rival was the smart play, and unfortunately she’d made it. Then again, it could also distract her.

“So what have you heard?” he asked, though he could make a good guess.

Abaddon looked over at him, grinning. “Lilith,” she said.

“Ah.”

Lilith. Lucifer’s favourite, and the first demon. She’d been buried so deep in Hell she’d almost been a myth – but once Azazel had let her out she’d asserted herself with a ruthless dominance. Regardless, she had been easier to cozy up to than Azazel, and it had worked out in Crowley’s favour. He’d been high up on the food chain when the storm began – and once all the dust had settled, he had been the only one left.

He had not set out wanting to be King of Hell. Rather he had expected Lucifer’s escape, had looked forward to the reign of terror, until he had seen one thing that had made him change his mind. Lilith had loved and adored Lucifer, pit her entire being into releasing him from his bonds. Crowley had witnessed all of it, as her rather firm right hand, and perhaps knew better than most the ins and outs of Lilith’s psyche, her own fears and expectations. What he hadn’t known was that Lilith, herself, was the final seal. That was information she had strictly kept to herself.

It wasn’t that Crowley had loved Lilith. He had respected and feared her, and her death was simply an event, one catalyst among many. It was the fact that Lilith, Lucifer’s favourite child, was expected to sacrifice herself so that the Father may walk free again, and this didn’t bother Lucifer at all. That was when the doubt planted itself in Crowley’s mind, which grew into a depressing and fearful realization. Even Lucifer’s favourite had been readily let go of, so what about the rest of them, the teeming creatures that were the children of Hell? Lucifer’s love was for his real family, the angels – not creatures made out of what was left of humans, the things Lucifer despised most. Demons were, undoubtedly, no better than humans in his eyes.

And so Crowley, out of pure, driving survivalism, had made his moves. And he never expected to be thanked for it, even though he had saved the entirety of Hell. It wasn’t like he’d done it out of altruism, anyway.

“Did you really screw her?”

“Often,” Crowley said. “With ardour. But only when she was over five and a half feet. I definitely have a type.”

It appeared that Abaddon couldn’t stop laughing, but Crowley was far from offended by it. He was a manipulative and opportunist bastard; of _course_ he’d slept with his boss. Abaddon, fierce creature she was, had made it to the top relatively quickly by simply catching Lucifer’s eye – and undoubtedly that was an honour she considered she deserved, rather than needing to fight for. She’d never taken the long way up.

He grinned at her, hiding his musings. “Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to get a favour out of someone that way,” he said.

“Never,” she claimed. “I take what I want, and I fuck what I want. Generally whenever I want.

Oh, Abaddon. She couldn’t recognize that she was describing the reality of having real power; that it was all that Crowley himself had fought tooth and nail to attain. But no; to her, it was simply her due. He had to laugh.

“Of course,” he said. “What else did you hear?”

“A lot of things. I’m not telling you.”

“Naturally.”

Abaddon shifted gears and the car ripped forward, and they were beyond the city limits now and hurtling towards the desert horizon. She turned to look at him, and he recognized the predatory glint in her eyes. Her hands spasmed slightly on the wheel, her shiny nails – same colour as the car – digging into the leather. “I want you,” she said, suddenly. She leaned towards him.

It was impossible, utterly impossible, to resist. He met her kiss, wondering in the back of his mind if Abaddon was some sort of clichéd speed demon – pun completely intended – but mostly concerning himself with her mouth. It was a rabid, needy kiss, and one of her hands gripped at his knee. His own hand smoothed over her stomach, up underneath her shirt and along warm skin.

She pulled away just slightly to look at the road. “Let’s make a deal,” she said.

“You want another one?”

“Yes,” she said, and kissed him again. He realized what she was possibly trying to do – get him to promise something, and then kiss him to make it official. A trick tried often amongst crossroad demons, so she’d need to do better than that.

“Are you seducing me, Abaddon?” he asked, pulling away slightly with a chuckle. “Is this how a Knight of Hell does it?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes turning wild. Her lipstick had already smeared, slightly, and she looked so intensely rattled that for a moment he wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or attracted. “Put on your seatbelt, Crowley.”

Oh, Hell.

He’d managed to get it on just as Abaddon hit the gas and jerked the wheel to the left, taking them off the edge of the interstate and against the barrier. The car, light as it was, flipped almost too easily, though perhaps that could be entirely blamed on the skill in which Abaddon maneuvered the vehicle. It got two good rotations in before landing upside down, the windshield shattering and Abaddon laughing the entire time.

“How’s that for a seduction?” she chuckled. She hadn’t belted herself in, had simply clung to the steering wheel with all her strength, and as a result her bonfire of hair obscured most of her from his view. “I hope that was a first for you. I like surprising my bedfellows.”

“I don’t think this was meant to be an offroad vehicle,” Crowley said, dryly. He was still belted in, and didn’t bother to get out, because Abaddon was crawling over to him, stretching out across the car roof and grinning up at him, batting his tie out of the way.

“Well,” she said. “It is now.” She was laying on shattered glass, which definitely seemed her sort of thing, stretched out around him rather than underneath him. It was a tight fit; she was mostly on the ground where the windshield had broken, and her entire body was more of less wrapped around on the ceiling and surrounding him. The effect was that all Crowley could really see was Abaddon, as if she wasn’t already hard to ignore.  

Looking satisfied with herself and her various shenanigans, she moved to kiss him again. For an upside down kiss, it wasn’t half bad.

“Who are you? Mary Jane?” he muttered.

“Hmm?” she purred. Time travel really sucked the appreciation she could have had over his wit, he thought.

He reached up (well, down) to push the hair out of her face. She was still playing with his tie. “So about that deal,” he said. “What are the terms?”

“I think this can be a handshake agreement,” she said.

“I hope you mean that in the business sense, not literally.”

She laughed, and then bit his ear, just a little too hard. The radio was still playing music, and Crowley had to admit, this was one of the more interesting trysts he’d ever had in a car.

There was a sound of tires hitting stray gravel on the highway, more music, distant. A car had pulled to a stop. “I think I hear our ride back into town,” she said, kissing him again, passionately, but briefly. He could hear voices, a man and a woman calling out to them to see if they were alright.

Abaddon began crawling out of the car. “I can see up your skirt from here,” he remarked.

“I’m not wearing a skirt.”

“No; I was just imagining you in one.”

“Maybe next time,” she said, forcing open his door and climbing out. He jammed his foot against the dashboard so he didn’t crash down once he unbuckled himself, more concerned with sorting himself out than what Abaddon was doing.

He could hear screaming, and then silence. Once he got out of the car, the two people were already lying motionless on the ground, like heaps of crumpled laundry.

Standing up out in the desert, Crowley brushed glass from his suit and watched Abaddon, who in turn was looking at him. As he had told her before, her hair flashed so vibrantly in the sunlight it looked like her head was on fire.

They stared at each other for some time, and then Crowley began to walk towards her, stirring up the dust. Abaddon was smiling. Crowley had the feeling that they were both making terribly bad decisions, and he was disturbed by the revelation that he was excited about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that there's more than one chapter: Chapter One's title, 'We Are a Fever', is taken from the song 'URA Fever' by the Kills. Chapter Two is 'Handshakes' by Metric, which also includes the lovely lyric 'smalltalk at the crossroads'.
> 
> Also I don't know what to say about this chapter other than I'm intensely entertained by the fact that Abaddon might be a speed freak, and so is Crowley.


	3. raw sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abaddon and Crowley embark on their new way of doing business.

It was so very quiet in the room. Abaddon had done that on purpose, because the last thing she wanted was to be overhead - by anyone. She'd burnt warding symbols into windowpanes and in the doors, at the joints in the floorboards just in case some enterprising party decided to occupy the rooms below hers. Everything had been physically enhanced, as well, with more recent technology, so not even an electronic bug could survive - she swept the room continuously for such things. A good section of the hotel had been taken as a base of operations, but several rooms were for her own personal, private use. This was where she had brought Crowley.

She was stretched out over the bed, nude, feeling indulgent, lazy, like a cat sunbathing. She was enjoying the rough brush of Crowley's beard as he kissed his way along, mapping the muscles of her back. Josie Sands had been a soft and womanly meatsuit, until Abaddon had occupied her, become a bit leaner, built more muscle - a body more suitable outside the age of delicate femininity.

"You're not sleeping, are you?" Crowley asked. His voice, low and dark, sounded amused. A long time ago, when the world had been a less bright place - where the stars could be seen wherever you went, and the wilderness circled civilization like a threat - you could hear voices in the woods, always. Soft and bloody murmurs. His voice reminded her of that, and reminded her, also, not to get too complacent.

"No," Abaddon said. "Don't think you tired me out."

"Quite the contrary," he replied. "I was concerned. I'd hate to lose you so soon."

She chuckled, and he felt him scrape his teeth against the back of her neck. She shivered and stretched, slightly, pillowing her cheek on her arm, but not yet looking back at him. They'd knocked the actual pillows off of the bed. "I think you should shave," she mused, though her mind was elsewhere, thinking about coming into the room with him - the way he had grabbed at her, at what he could do with his mouth when he wasn't using it to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

Abaddon was not a romantic creature, nor was she inherently sexual - mostly she was assertive, aggressive, violent. But she loved attention, and being lavished with it. With Cain she had been inordinately happy, fiery, alive, until he had decided he didn't need her anymore. That had sent her spinning with rage, and she had to admit that wasn't when she did her best work. She preferred control, she preferred to be satiated - and she preferred respect and adoration over dislike and disinterest. 

Which wasn't to say she _needed_ it. She just _liked_ it. The fact that she was being lavished with attention by her rival was a surprise, but it pleased her. He certainly didn't like her - but he was definitely interested in her, and the physical perks were enough for her to think that, as risks went, this one paid off well. Abaddon was used to getting what she wanted, she understood that about herself well enough, and she wanted Crowley. If he had not decided to go along with her she wasn't sure what she could have done about it, but she would have wanted to break their deal. And that would have been much more difficult to manage than she would have liked - even the hardiest of demons were bound by rules beyond them, and in the same way they could not step foot beyond a Devil's Trap, they also found difficulty in breaking their agreements among one another.

At her remark, Crowley stopped kissing her back and instead laughed in disbelief. "What for?"

"You're chafing my thighs."

"I must have bitten you seven times," he said. "And you're worried about a bit of chafing?"

Abaddon scoffed. "Hardly seven."

"If you like, I can roll you over and we can count."

At that remark she shifted, rolling towards him in case he got the idea he could bat her around like a cat with a stunned mouse. He was laying beside her, propped up on one elbow, smirking at her. Most of the lipstick she had been wearing was now all over his neck and shoulders, and she grinned, curling herself against him, sliding her calf against his thigh. "I can count just fine," she said, against his neck. "And it was six."

"Seven," he corrected her. "One for each sin."

Admittedly, despite how pleased she felt, something was throwing her off. It wasn't that she didn't expect Crowley to be enjoyable - she'd never have done it if anything had suggested otherwise - and despite what she may say even his conversation wasn't all that bad; it was entertaining, even refreshing. Still, something was niggling at her. She felt like she had been surprised by something, but couldn't figure out when she'd seen it, not to mention what it was. "Six," she said, again. "But I'll let you add another, if you're really so hung up on seven."

She sat up a bit, draping a leg across his waist as she settled in against him. He moved to press his lips to her throat and shoulders, and she smoothed her fingers through his hair, scratching over the back of his head. She shivered as his beard scraped against her chest. Maybe she didn't need him to shave so badly, after all.

She traced her fingernails over his shoulders and down his arm, along the lines of a rather colourful tattoo, and smudging some of the lipstick she'd left on him. "Were these on your meatsuit when you got it?" she asked, idly curious. Most demons didn't alter their suits when they got them - they were chosen as is.

"They were. I suppose he had a rebellious phase." He spoke against her skin, and his warm breath made her press closer to him, despite what he said next. "You should get a little tattoo, MJ. A baby devil? Or maybe 'property of the King of Hell', that would suit you better."

She snorted. "Only after I tattoo 'Abaddon's Bitch' on you," she said. "Right on your forehead."

"Oh, then we'd match."

"I'd sew your mouth shut if it wasn't good for so many things," she said, before kissing him. 

One of his hands pressed to the middle of her back, and so she arched against him, enjoying the friction that was between them, physically, mentally. Their kiss was rough, and as each moment ticked by it became clear that there was something desperate about it, admitting to each other what they'd rather not say - the level of desire that no respectable demon ever wanted to admit to feeling for another, at least to someone who understood it.

She wasn't afraid of him, though. She refused terror - it did not sit well with her - it did not belong inside of her head. Lust, though, had a more acceptable place. She dug her nails into the back of his neck, not sure whether it was because she wanted to assert dominance or because she couldn't contain herself, and deciding it didn't matter.

In response, Crowley pushed her down against the bed, where she writhed and slid slightly on the silken sheets, but she had no intention in really going anywhere, especially not after he wrapped his lips around one of her nipples. She moaned, nails gliding through his hair, basking in the wet sensation of his lips and tongue. When he pressed teeth to her she twitched underneath him, then pushed herself upward, feeling the hot, hard length of him against her hip.

He kissed her between her breasts, and Abaddon glanced down at him, remembering what he'd said on the Strip - about looking down at the top of his head - with a grin. By the time he made it to the hollow of her throat, however, she was suitably distracted enough to forget it. His hands mapped her body shamelessly, and she writhed underneath him. They kissed again, eagerly, restlessly, and Abaddon reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock.

He groaned against her mouth and she pulled back, nipping at his bottom lip. "Just fuck me already," she demanded, her voice hoarse. Crowley laughed, but the sound caught slightly when she squeezed her hand.

He grabbed her shoulders. "Just because you asked so nicely," he said, and that smoky quality his voice usually had had gone rough around the edges, like it was fraying, and he pinned her down. She didn't resist, instead moving to twine both hands into his hair again, dragging his mouth back to hers.

He entered her suddenly, roughly, and without thinking she bit his tongue. He didn't seem to mind, though, beyond producing a rather muffled sound that was pain, pleasure, or both. He buried himself deep inside of her, not giving her time to accustom herself before he was pulling out and thrusting again, digging her down against the mattress.

For a moment, Abaddon felt it - that rising urge to fight. But in an instant she threw that notion away, because that was not what she wanted. Instead she clutched at Crowley, letting him ride her, basking in the experience of having all of his focus narrowed right onto her, partly out of arrogance, but also manipulation. Because to fight back, to try for physical dominance, was what he expected her to do; and if she was going to beat him she would have to lull him, surprise him, tempt him.

And for the record, she was also enjoying herself incredibly.

The old tongues were the best tongues to speak, sometimes; and Crowley was one of the few who could understand her. She understood there was a thrill to hearing something long dead, and she murmured in his ear, rough and angry encouragement, the words indelicate despite the breathiness of her purr.

In response, Crowley bit her; and she gasped and for a flash her instinct was back and she was bucking up underneath him to throw him off. But Crowley held on, in fact shocking her by throwing her back down against the bed and biting her, again, only now his teeth broke through the skin. And this time the puncture of his teeth and his cock driving deep inside of her woke something different, and when Abaddon threw herself up against him with a strangled shout it was in climax, which was apparently exactly what he wanted. 

She gripped at him, shuddering and moaning and feeling him spend himself inside of her, feeling more than hearing his moans against the flesh of her shoulder. Abaddon allowed him to settle on top of her, feeling for a moment that sweet weakness that came after a good fight. She cupped the back of his head and kissed him, tasting her own blood, and a bit of his own.

It was a calmer kiss, now that, for the moment, desires had been somewhat sated. Abaddon knew it wouldn't last, though. After all, she'd barely rolled around in bed with Crowley for half an hour before she had wanted him again; for a moment she worried if maybe this need was insatiable, before realizing it didn't matter, not in the grand scheme of things. Not yet.  
She put her weight forward, pushing him onto his back. He grinned up at her, unperturbed, looking oddly cool. She was noticing that - it wasn't that he wasn't wary of her, because he was. But this was a game he was comfortable playing; she supposed he'd had a lot of practice, if the grapevine was anything to go by.

She was just going to have to hurry up and learn it without him noticing, and practice made perfect, didn't it? She bent down and brushed her lips over the bridge of his nose, then to his lips, and she could tell she was startling him. Was he softening her, or was she becoming more dangerous? He had to be thinking that; she wanted him to think that.

She slid off of him, but curled her hand around his wrist, to lead him towards the shower. "Let's go count bite marks," she suggested. Abaddon always got what she wanted, and she wanted to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me forever, it's been half-finished for weeks now. And hey look, the rating went up, whooo! I know you want it. And I couldn't resist; Crowley got Mark's tattoos. Because they're sexy, ok.  
> Fun fact, I'm actually in Vegas now. And I was SPN con-ing it. Awyeah. Enough to know that Crowley/Abaddon shippers are in small supply. I kind of want to call the pairing Gingerley (or Gingerly?). BECAUSE I CAN. And because it doesn't describe them, at all. If anyone has any input let me know.  
> This story is finished, but if anyone is interested I plan on continuing the series, awwwwyeah.


End file.
